


Time

by MesTiel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, i mean it could be pre-slash or erm intense friendship, sherlock season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MesTiel/pseuds/MesTiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief fic set after episode 3.1. After two years of anguish, John isn't quite ready to be back in Sherlock's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> Summary says it all. I just felt that even though it was relatively easy for John to forgive Sherlock, recovering from two years of anguish would not be as simple.

John found himself sitting at the small cafe table twenty minutes early, hands shaking just enough to keep him from holding his damn cup of coffee and taking a sip.

“There's my blogger,” a voice said quietly from behind. Warm. 

John flinched despite himself. He sheepishly motioned for Sherlock to join him, not quite meeting his eyes.

A moment passed in tense but companionable silence while a waiter brought them a menu. And... a tiny vase with a single flower, placed right in the center of the table. John glanced at it disapprovingly but for once didn't have the energy to protest.

“So,” Sherlock began. John focused on Sherlock's hands on the table, fingers slightly twitching. He was nervous too, then. Good. Prick.

“So.” John finally glanced up at the face he thought, for so damn long, that he would never see again. And despite himself, he found himself unable to look away. There were so many things he still wanted to say.

“You're quite the conversationalist today,” Sherlock said, laughing nervously, seemingly a habit these days.

“Sorry, I – sorry, it's...” John averted his gaze and rubbed a shaky hand across his temple. “I just, I needed to see you.”

“I know.” Sherlock's voice was quiet, soft.

John looked up again at the face he had dreamed about for two years, waking up at nights sweating and screaming. There he was, Sherlock, just inches in front of him, larger than life. He damn near wanted to take a hold of his hand, here on the tiny table with the matching flower and vase.

“Sherlock, I want you to understand something.” John took a moment to steady himself. He needed to say this. “These last few days have been... um.” Pull it together, John, Jesus.

“Riveting? Exhilarating?” Sherlock supplied with a hopeful smile, marred only by a slight quivering of the lips.

“Sherlock, I nearly died twice.”

“Ah, yes, well. There was that.”

“I am trying to say that... Look, I need more time.”

Goddammit, those were not tears in Sherlock's eyes. Not again.

“Time?”

“Sherlock. Please understand. I have had two- two years of...” John cursed himself under his breath. Why was this so hard?

“I said I was sorry,” Sherlock said, and dammit a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Hey, that – stop that,” John snapped. “No more of your stupid games.” Before he could stop himself, he reached across the table and wiped the tear away with his thumb.

“I'm not playing,” Sherlock whispered, eyes wide.

“I'm saying I need time to readjust, to...” John cleared his throat. “To heal, I guess.” He suddenly laughed, mirthlessly. “D'you know, I still wake up in the middle of the night, thinking you're dead and I've imagined all this?”

“John.”

“I need to reconnect with Mary... she says I've been distant lately, and um...”

John didn't know who reached out first, but they were actually holding hands now, knuckles gone white as each man squeezed with all he was worth.

“I'll come to see you,” John went on, stroking his thumb along Sherlock's fingernails. “And we will solve cases together, just like old times.”

“John.”

“I just need time, okay. Sherlock?”

And without another word Sherlock stood abruptly and left the cafe. John took one moment to process this and then nearly knocked the table over as he began to run after his friend. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, he ran out into the frigid London air and immediately halted, spotting Sherlock leaning against the building's wall just meters away. 

“Sherlock, what the hell-”

Suddenly John found himself pressed into a coat collar, long arms wrapped around his waist and holding him close.

“I thought it'd be best to do this out here,” Sherlock murmured against his hair. “They already put a flower on our table...”

“Shut up,” John spoke into the crook of his friend's neck. Sherlock held him tighter, and John allowed himself this moment, precious and fleeting that he knew it was.

When they finally disentangled, John was the first to walk away, feeling Sherlock's eyes on his back. 

“John!” Sherlock called before he was out of ear shot. John halted and glanced back over his shoulder. “Don't take too bloody long!” 

Sherlock grinned, and John couldn't help but match his smile, vaguely thankful that Mrs. Hudson was absent for this entire exchange.

It was going to be a good year.


End file.
